


Until it goes to your head

by Out_Of_Custody



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU - Modern Setting, F/M, Sexual Themes, Short, just barely not smut, simmer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-02-29 22:53:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18787897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Out_Of_Custody/pseuds/Out_Of_Custody
Summary: short, sweet, citrusy(no real plot)





	Until it goes to your head

He likes where he is. Kneeling on the carpented floor of her room; door locked. The house is empty. The coast is clear. And Gendry has never been in a home as beautiful as that of Arya but none of that had truly held his attention.

She is kind when her hand slips into his hair, bends his head backwards until his eyes close of their own volition and she lets go of his head again, giving his neck a parting stroke. She is gentle when she walks around him, fingers gliding his skin, remaining in contact, letting him know where she is. Cloth settles over his eyes, silk that she is careful to tie well at the back of his head.

“Too tight?”

He squeezes his eyes fast to test the give of the cloth against his temples. “No. It’s fine. Thank you.”

She hums softly, brushes a hand over his hair and lets him kneel like that for a little longer. Her fingers trace his shoulders, his collarbones, his chest.

“You can lean your head forward if you want.”

He holds for a breath longer before he carefully lolls his head to one side and to the front, hanging it low, relishing in the blood-rush. His hands are tied behind his back, out of the way when she climbs carefully between his spread knees, fully clothed and sits, brushing her fingers through the hair over his ears. He is light-headed and his ears buzz as he regulates his breathing.

Something heavy taps against the skin of his thighs and he swallows around a hum.

“I would like to tie you up as you sit. Would that be alright?”

She has told him before they started – what she planned on doing. Has asked what he feels comfortable with. It’s not… they’re not new to this, but she walks him through it every time again. Asks and asks again.

“Yes, please.”

He is rewarded with a gentle kiss to the corner of his lips – he has half the mind to chase the touch but is already too comfortable to simply allow her reign over his body; already too cued in to his senses and his ears perk at the sound of the rope unfurling.

He’s held the thing in his hands a thousand times, rolling it up with her, checking it for wear and tear, letting it hold him time and time again. And the feeling is always somehow _new_ when the first sling goes around his neck, allowing for the knot to land squarely on his sternum. Her hands span the space he has from the knot to his jugular.

“Is this okay?”

He nods but she needs a word and the _Yeah_ he breathes out from somewhere that is and isn’t his mouth just passes _barely_. Her thumb strokes over his cheek and he leans briefly into the contact, allows his head to be held by the tiny hand before she pats him again and continues on.

The rope passes around him, under him, holds him and ties him up, doesn’t give even against his slacking muscles and decreasing mind-frame.

She passes it under his middle, brushes over his engorged privates and he hasn’t the mind to curtail the soft moan that pushes through his lips, doesn’t stop leaning forward until his head connects with her – some part of her – and stays there while she finishes up.

He’s warm. Titillated by the feel of the rope against his skin. Breathes with every single one of her touches. Groans when she finds a good spot.

“You’re so good to me.”, she says quietly, “So pretty like this. Thank you for letting me.”

Her hands graze his hips, skim his sides. He makes a noise. Inarticulate. Approving but degenerate.

The rope spans his chest, his back, his arms, his hands, his torso, his legs, even his intimate points chafe pleasantly with the hem – it burns against him sweetly and his throat feels parched.

“So beautiful.”, she praises again, stroking his hands down his thighs, inner, outer, graze the tops of his glutes. “So trusting. Thank you for your trust. You’re so generous with it. Thank you.”

She kisses his shoulder, runs her hand down his torso and touches the head of his cock – barely, briefly. Just enough for him to recognize the touch. Not long enough for something to happen from it.

“I want to praise you.”, she whispers gently, holding his jaw with both hands. “Praise you until it goes to your head. And I want you to let go. I want you to hold nothing back.”

He knows where this is going.

And he gives in gladly.


End file.
